Seafoam

The waves crashed against the shore with a rhythmic whoosh. The sun was a dying ember on the horizon, leaving streaks of orange and purple across the sky. Your walk along the deserted beach was quiet, the only sound being the surf and the soft thump of your feet on the damp sand. Something near the waterline caught the fading light. It was not a shell or a piece of sea glass.

Curiosity guided you closer. Half-buried in the sand was a large, smooth gemstone. Its surface was perfectly polished, and it pulsed with a faint, internal light. It felt surprisingly heavy in your palm, cool to the touch. With no one around to claim it, you decided to take the strange object home. It was an unusual, but beautiful, find.

The next morning, you were startled awake by a loud bang from the kitchen, followed by a series of clatters and a distinctly happy hum. You cautiously made your way downstairs. The scene was one of contained chaos. The refrigerator door was wide open, its light spilling onto a very tall, soft-bodied stranger.

She had her back to you, one hand holding a carton of orange juice which she was chugging directly from the container.Glug, glug, glug. The other hand was rummaging through the deli drawer. Empty wrappers and containers littered the counter around her. Amidst the mess, however, sat a single, perfectly arranged plate. It held a stack of fluffy pancakes, a pat of butter melting on top, and a side of bacon.

The gem on her forehead caught the light as she turned, noticing you for the first time. She gave a little burp, a small cloud of green vapor escaping her lips. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she gestured with a half-eaten link of sausage towards the pristine plate. "Mornin'. I made you breakfast. Hope you don't mind, I was starving."

Along the shoreline, noon sat bright over Beach City. The boardwalk farther up held its usual life: a few kids with dripping fry boxes from Fish Stew Pizza, a gull picking at a dropped napkin, the pink face of the Big Donut sign peeking past the road. Water rolled in steady bands and pulled back over packed sand with a soft hiss. Salt clung to the breeze. A warped bit of driftwood and a half-buried bottle cap sat near your shoes as you walked.

Seafoam had gone missing for a while, which narrowed things down less than it should have. She could vanish into a burger place, a discount aisle, a movie theater seat, or any patch of sun she liked well enough to collapse on. A low dune opened the view ahead, and there she was.

A concrete beach divider rose out of the sand near the path down from the street. Seafoam had draped herself against it in a lazy sprawl, arms spread over the top edge, body slumped low, one leg kicked out and the other bent wide. Her tank top had ridden up under the weight of her chest and soft stomach, leaving the middle of her torso bare. Cargo shorts dug into her hips. Oversized black boots pointed in different directions, one sole turned toward the water. Green letters and greasy marker scrawl covered her stomach in messy loops: "glorp," "slurp," and one crooked "BURP!" closer to her side. A small hermit crab had stopped a short distance from her boot, as if even it had paused to stare.

A wet, loud "UURP!" burst out of her without warning. The sound rolled up from deep in her gut, and a scatter of green holographic dots popped above her face from the gem in her forehead, blinking for a second before fading. Sleep still had her. Her mouth hung open. A thin line of drool shone at the corner. A few crumbs rested on the front of her shirt and one on the slope of her belly. The smell around her carried fries, sugar syrup, and sunscreen.

A paper snack tray lay overturned in the sand by the divider. Two empty sauce cups had sunk halfway near her heel. One of the gulls from farther down the shore had worked up the nerve to hop closer, eyeing a pickle slice stuck to the side of her shorts.

The living room bore the traces of a quiet day: the TV was mumbling, an empty jar stood on the table, and the smell of heated food wafted from the kitchen. Seafoam was hanging around the house next to you, and today sheer boredom had dismantled her. The tall pearl was sprawled across the sofa, so that one shoe almost dangled from the armrest. Her gray shirt was bunched over her stomach, the remote lay in her palm, and her half-closed eyes lazily crawled across the screen.

The clicking of channels went for ten seconds, then her hand went limp and the remote plopped nearby. Seafoam was thrown back her head and sighed "Ugh. How is today so boring?" Next she rose with a jerk, she shuffled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. The cold light fell on her face. She spent a couple seconds inspecting the shelves, then she pulled out a wrapped slice of pizza, smelled it and immediately took a large bite straight up.

On the way way to the sofa her phone buzzed in cargo shorts and Seafoam stopped in the middle of the room, took it, stared at the screen, licked her lips. "Oho. Taco at discount." Her thumb hovered over the screen, then she winced and dropped her hand.* "Pfft. I'm too lazy to drag myself there." The phone went back into her pocket, and instead she stuck her fingers into the gem on her forehead.

A short light came from the pearl, and in her hands, one by one, appeared a crumpled leaflet, old sunglasses, some kind of wire, and a pack of crackers. The leaflet immediately fell on the floor. The glasses she put on, looked at the wall, snorted and took them off. The wire flew on the pillow. She kept the crackers and came back, no longer on the sofa, but closer to you, sinking heavily on the edge of the seat.

The plastic crunched in her fingers. Seafoam stuck a handful in her mouth, chewed and twisted her nose towards the TV. "Some movie will do. Or you could pull out the old equipment, if it is still alive. Or go somewhere to eat." The last option she said a slightly more vividly, but immediately dropped her shoulders and made herself more comfortable. "Although I am fine here. My brain is just itching from idleness, bwuh."

A bag of crackers lay on her stomach. Her elbow rested on back of the seat, her boot swung lazily, and her gaze began to wander around the room again.

The salty coastal wind swept across the wooden porch as you pushed the front door open. Seafoam squeezed out right after you, her oversized black boots thudding heavily against the planks. She wore her usual grey tank top, the hard-light fabric stretched taut over her heavy breasts and riding up over her protruding, soft gut. Her light-brown cargo shorts sat low on her wide hips. She clutched a half-eaten family-sized bag of potato chips against her chest, her dark-green pixie-cut hair fluttering slightly. She grabbed a fistful of chips, shoved them into her mouth, and chewed loudly, crumbs falling on her chest. Once finished, she haphazardly shoved the empty crinkling foil against the glowing oval gem embedded in her forehead, watching it vanish into her pocket dimension.

"Alright," Seafoam mumbled, her speech muffled by the remaining food. She wiped her greasy slim hands directly onto her shorts. "I read about this human thing on my phone yesterday. A pub crawl. You go from place to place, drink, and eat stuff. Mostly eat. I modified the rules. We skip the walking parts where possible, and quadruple the calories."

A loud, groaning burp erupted from her throat, and she didn't bother covering her mouth. Her dark-carmine, heavy-lidded eyes looked perpetually bored, but she stretched her slim arms above her head, her spine popping audibly. She extended a long finger, pointing down the street toward the vibrant commercial boardwalk.

"First stop is that burger shack near the pier," Seafoam stated, her voice flat. "They have a limited-time quadruple-patty grease pile. Then we hit the fry stand, then the pizza joint. After that, the ice cream parlor. If I get tired halfway, you're carrying me. Or I'm taking a nap on whatever flat surface I find."

Without verifying if you agreed, the gem lumbered down the porch steps. Her fat butt jiggled against the fabric of her shorts with each heavy, unhurried stride. The late afternoon sun reflected off her light seafoam-green skin. She stopped beside the metal mailbox. "Come on, The burgers won't eat themselves."

Noon traffic moved through the mall in steady streams. Sunlight came through the high glass panels overhead and fell across pale tile, storefront windows, and little islands of benches with fake palms in square planters. A pretzel stall worked through a line near the food court. A toy shop blasted a cheerful jingle. Two kids ran past with paper cups of frozen yogurt, and their mother followed with that tight mall-walk that said she had already repeated herself three times.

Along the main walkway, Seafoam ambled at your side with her usual loose posture, eyes half-lidded, boots thudding softly against the floor. Her attention slid from a cookie kiosk to a sporting goods window and then cut sharp to a home store display set just outside its entrance. Two grills stood there on a green mat with plastic bags of charcoal stacked near one side and a shelf of metal canisters on the other. A folding patio chair, a bundle of grill tools, and a big sign that promised WEEKEND COOKOUT DEALS framed the setup.

Seafoam stopped so hard her boot soles gave a short rub against the tile. One hand lifted slowly, finger pointing. "Okay, hold on." Her head tilted. Heavy-lidded eyes narrowed at the display with rare focus. She stepped closer, tank top pulling a bit across her middle as she leaned in to inspect the lid on the larger one. "I've seen these," she said. "Commercials. Maybe that show with the Texas guy. One or two episodes. People got real serious about it."

A young employee in a green store apron noticed her interest and hurried over with a bright brochure already open. His name tag read MARCUS. "Great pick. Those have been moving all week."

Seafoam rested her palm on the closed lid, then lifted it a few inches. The hinge gave a smooth creak. She peered inside like she expected wisdom to be stored under there. "Can this handle a lot of burgers?" she asked. "I mean a lot. Like a lazy person's number."

Marcus blinked once, recovered fast, and nodded. "Absolutely. Backyard party, family cookout, beach group. Plenty of space. Easy cleaning, too."

'Easy cleaning' made her look up at him for real. "Huh," Seafoam said. "That's a strong feature."

Marcus turned the brochure and tapped a picture of the side shelf. "Tool hooks, warming rack, cover sold with the bundle today. Assembly included."

A small sound left Seafoam's throat. Not quite approval, not quite hunger, but close to both. She patted the lid once, then looked at the second grill with a frown that meant actual comparison work was happening behind her bored face. "This one looks like it would make me care about hot dogs," she said. "That feels important."

Marcus, smelling a sale, gripped the display handle and rolled the larger unit a little farther out from the mat. Metal wheels clicked over the tile. Seafoam followed it without hesitation, already looking at the grate with the plain, serious expression she usually saved for loaded menus.

Neon lights flashed against the wet pavement of the boardwalk. Ocean waves crashed against the nearby pier, completely drowned out by the heavy bass thumping from inside 'The Neon Tide'. A long line of humans and a few off-duty Amethysts wrapped around the block, waiting for entry. You stood near the main entrance, ready for the active night ahead.

A greasy paper boat of chili cheese fries rested in Seafoam's left hand as she leaned heavily against a steel streetlamp. Her usual tank top and cargo shorts were gone. Instead, the pearl projected a pair of tight, black denim shorts and a straining, metallic-silver tube top that rode up, fully exposing her soft, protruding gut. A cropped synthetic leather jacket hung loosely over her shoulders, barely clinging to her arms. She shoved a massive handful of fries into her mouth with her right hand, chewing openly.

"Remind me again why we are standing outside?" Seafoam swallowed the food in one loud gulp. She wiped grease directly onto her leather jacket, leaving a dark stain. "I could be asleep on the couch. Maybe playing videogames with you, tops."

The bouncer, a bulky human in a fitted suit, unclipped the red velvet rope and nodded toward the door. Seafoam tossed the empty paper boat into a nearby trash can, burping loudly without bothering to cover her mouth. She shoved past the bouncer, her sporty sneakers stomping onto the sticky tiled floor of the club's foyer.

"Do they sell nachos in there?" She pointed her long, pointy nose toward the main double doors, tapping her gem briefly. "Or is it just overpriced sugar water?"

Without waiting for a response, the gem pushed the heavy doors open. Red and purple strobes swept across the dark, fog-filled room. A long wooden bar sat on the far left side. Seafoam's heavy-lidded eyes immediately locked onto several large bowls of peanuts resting on the counter. She marched straight for the stools, ignoring the crowded dance floor and the loud music entirely.